


Not A Very Civil Service

by Oriole T (inamac)



Category: Primeval
Genre: Bondage, Branding, CBT, Exhibitionism, F/M, Figging, M/M, Pony Play, Toys, boot-fetish, dub-con, leather-fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-06
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:46:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Oriole%20T
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester has an unusual way of relaxing away from the office.  But it's not that easy to shake off a determined security force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Very Civil Service

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a little pony-play drabble for Primeval Denial, but grew to take in every kink available bar the kitchen sink. I should probably point out that this is entirely a work of (my warped) imagination and should not be taken as a guide to any real life practices. _Primeval_ is not mine (sadly).

# Not A Very Civil Service

The fact that he had bought the harness, the cart, the bridle, bit and reins, and the soft black leather boots with the steel-shod soles did not mean that he was the Master here. It meant only that he had the money to indulge in his pleasures, and the self-knowledge to admit that one of those pleasures was to be found in submission to another's will.

Lester stood quietly, with no more movement than he would have shown waiting on the Minister to complete some business in his office, or while briefing the team for another incursion incident. But back in the ARC he was in charge, and tense with the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Here he could stand passively, mind unoccupied with anything other than a vague concern that his Mistress might have forgotten him. She was standing on the far side of the field, chatting casually with the other trainers, sorting out the programme for the day's competition.

This was the first time they had ventured out of the seclusion of the indoor ménage where his training usually took place, and he had been apprehensive about meeting other ponies, and working out in the open air. He was not the only one here to feel nervous though. The boy beside him was restless, moving from foot to foot and jerking occasionally at the rein which was fastened to the ring on the barn wall. The fretting put him slightly off his own balance, the long boots that clung to his calves like gloves were designed more for show than movement and his training on the smooth sanded surface of the ménage had not prepared him for the difficulty of manoeuvring in the high heels and the steel horseshoes that were his only point of contact with the uneven ground. He slipped, striking sparks from the rough stone path and was saved only by the short tether on his harness. He glared at the boy, who tossed his head and responded with a sound more like a sneer than the equine whinny that he was permitted. The altercation caught the attention of the trainers, and his mistress hurried over, whip in hand, expression grim.

He would have been hard and erect under that stern gaze even if the penis sheath that was part of the harness had not kept him so.

"When I say 'stand' you're to stand quiet," she said.

He bowed his head in acknowledgement, but cut his eyes sideways at the boy whose own master had unclipped his rein and was leading him across to where the sulkies stood. Jenny caught the movement and smiled. "So you've met the opposition? He may be young, but he's not well trained. Remember your lessons, and we can beat him."

Lester would have smiled and made some comment, if not prevented by the gagging rubber bit. In lieu he tossed his head, prancing a little to convey his approval of the challenge. Jenny grinned outright and moved to unclip his own tether before taking up the reins and touching him with the end of the whip to guide him out of the shelter of the shed and across to where their own cart stood.

This was the part he liked most, having her fussing over the harness, pulling straps tight, looping the shafts through the rings on his belt-harness and fastening the chains to the collar. As they were out of doors the long tail which was usually fastened to his butt-plug had been fixed instead to the harness, but he still shivered with arousal when she doubled it to pull it through the crupper. She slapped the handle of the whip across his leather-clad buttocks and leaned up under cover of adjusting his blinkers to whisper in his ear "Save it 'til we get home, Hacker. This is a respectable meeting."

She had already fixed the bearing-rein, so he could not nod, but his eyes promised much.

There were about twenty ponies, and half as many trainers at this meeting. The woodland was privately owned, and was a regular venue in the summer for the group, though the advertisement on the website concentrated more on the promotion of paintball games and bespoke team-building exercises. James wondered whether the landowner knew that the 'pony club games' group did not include any equine competitions.

He was reminded that such speculation was not appropriate to his current status as Jenny took her place in the cart and he was forced adjust his stance to take the sudden weight-shift. She shook out the lash of the long coaching whip and trailed the end over his right shoulder and down his back, the signal to move off.

"Walk on!"

Fortunately the path was a proper clay ride which had been carefully cleared of any obstructions that might have tripped the ponies in their awkward boots. His first few steps were, nevertheless, tentative, as blinkers and bearing-rein made it impossible for him to put his head down to see where he was going. Another, harsher, touch of the whip reminded him that it was not his job to worry about his footing – and the long hours of training cut in to make him step out more confidently, short strides leaving a perfectly even line of hoofprints on the packed clay.

The trail that was being used for this 'roads and tracks' part of the harness competition wound through woodland before passing between high embankments which had originally been part of a disused railway. The footing was good, and the place was well-shielded from prying eyes (it was one of the reasons that the Pony Club used this venue), but Jenny, concentrating on balancing the cart and ensuring that neither hooves nor wheels hit any obstruction, nevertheless felt uneasy as they rounded the end of the drive, where it passed closest to the high estate wall, and started the run back. Were they being watched? Or was it just her usual paranoia, honed by the demands of her job, and the obsessive secrecy that surrounded every Anomaly incident. The last thing she wanted was an Anomaly opening _here_ \- though at least there would be experienced people on hand to deal with an unexpected incursion. Lester, however, moving surely between the shafts, seemed unworried by anything other than the need to finish the course without incurring the unwelcome attention of the whip. Well, if they were under surveillance it wasn't her problem. She concentrated on driving squarely through the last markers, and pulling to a halt in front of the judges.

+++

It was late afternoon when the meeting finally ended. Jenny had left him tied by the barn again while she loaded the cart into the trailer. His bridle bore two rosettes, a red for first place in the carting class and a reserve place for a late entry in a showing class. The ribbons tickled his neck as he turned to watch the other trainers unharnessing their charges and sending them to the changing rooms to dress. James felt a moment's panic. He could not throw off the equine mindset so quickly after almost a full day. He needed time to reset from equine to human and was grateful when, having finished with the cart she returned to unhitch him and walked him across to the latrine-trench to allow him to straddle, piss and stale. She waited until he was done, patted him reassuringly (this had been one of the most traumatic parts of his training, and despite still being locked into his pony mind-set he was grateful that she had waited until the area was clear of other users), then threw a blanket over him before shovelling earth over the mess and leading him back to the trailer.

He was dozing when she opened the tailgate at their destination, still curled on the straw-covered floor under the blanket, but divested of harness, hooves and tail and only too ready for the shower, shave, and sandwich that would signal the completion of their session.

+++

It was nearly a month later, during a rare lull in Anomaly activity, Lester was taking the opportunity to stay late at the office to compete his work without interruptions from the rest of the team, when a knock on the door interrupted him. He rarely closed his door, and even when he did the members of the team never bothered to knock, so he slipped one hand under the desk to rest on the butt of the weapon clipped there before calling out "Come in."

His grip relaxed when he realised that it was Jenny.

"I thought everyone had finished for the day," he said, as she walked in and sat down in the seat opposite.

"We have," she smiled. "And you should too. This isn't office business." She unlocked her briefcase and took out a thin purple file – definitely not Government issue. In fact he recognised it immediately as one of the files she used in her – personal – business.

He closed the file he had been working on and dropped it into his 'out' tray. "I've finished for the day," he said, rising and crossing to the drinks cabinet in the corner and pouring them both a generous whisky. He set hers in front of her and resumed his seat. "We're both on our own time now. So what is this about?"

"I've had a proposal," she said, taking the glass and pushing the file across to him, "for something that 's not in your contract."

Lester raised an eyebrow. Her contracts were famously comprehensive, covering everything from basic BDSM practice (safe, sane, consensual), to food and water (grain, fruit, raw carrot, Highland Spring) . He could think of only one omission, one activity that would require an entirely separate contract, between three partners. Her next words confirmed it.

"It's an offer for your stud services."

He ran a finger thoughtfully round the rim of his glass, then threw back the spirit, savouring the warm burn on the back of his throat. "Someone at the meet?" he asked, trying for casualness, though there had certainly not been any of the... fillies... that he would have considered approaching with a contract of his own. And the colts... well, he had enjoyed defeating them in competition, he did not want them to beat him (or vice versa) literally. He relaxed when she shook her head.

"Someone who was at the meet, but not officially. One of my other... clients... expressed an interest. He was very specific about wanting you. If you're willing."

"He?" Lester asked sharply.

"I'm not planning on raising foals," she observed dryly. "But I think it would do you both good to get rid of some of that sexual energy. I don't like my ponies fractious. This is supposed to be a way of relaxing for us all. This would be a one-off service, with an option for extension if you're compatible."

"And if we're not?" Her smile worried him. It suggested that there was something in this situation that amused her – beyond its ability to embarrass him. Though he was surprised to find that he wasn't embarrassed. Although pony-play was classified as a sexual kink most ponies and trainers obtained their gratification from acts of domination and submission, the release, for a few hours, from the responsibilities of being human. In harness he could relax, allow Jenny to take all control. Having to perform sexually would change that dynamic, even if it was at her command.

"You both have safe-signals. And I'll be with you. For as long as you want. But I understand it's a big step and you'll need time to think about it," she said, setting down her empty glass and getting to her feet ready to leave. "There's no rush. Take the contract home and look it over. Let me know before our next session."

"No," he said. "How many equine stallions get a choice about what mares they cover? If it wasn't for the contract you'd have harnessed me and told me to get on with it. I trust your judgement." He unclipped his pen, pulled the contract across the table, turned to the last page without even glancing at the terms, and signed with his usual efficient signature.

Jenny stared. "You don't believe in half-measures, do you, James?"

"If something is worth doing, it's worth doing properly. Work or play. I'll be there at the usual time next week."

+++

It was raining when he rang the bell to announce his arrival five days later. The sky was overcast so that even at this hour, barely past noon, he had needed his headlights on the unlit drive to the barn. There was an unfamiliar car drawn up beside Jenny's Landrover and a little frisson of apprehension went through him at the sight.

The door opened to reveal Jenny, already dressed in boots, breeches and hacking jacket and with a halter slung over one shoulder. "Good," she said. "I was just getting your tack. Go through and get ready. I'll be fifteen minutes."

He nodded, beginning to reset himself for his role, and walked down the short passage to the prep rooms.

The place was utilitarian, more like the changing rooms at a gym than a stable tack room, but this was designed as a place for transition, from human to pony and back again. He stripped and put his clothes and bag, watch and rings into his locker before walking through to the wet room. There were no stalls, just three shower-heads and taps with hose attachments on one tiled wall. After a training session Jenny would bring him in here and hose him down, removing the sweat and dust of his equine activities. Now it was a place to wash the dirt and grime, and mental detritus of his human life away.

The floor was already damp, a further indication that this session would be different from what he was accustomed to . He soaped and showered with perhaps a little more attention to cleaning his genitals than usual, then walked through to the stables.

The brass plate on the end stall bore the name she had selected for him, Hacker. It was a joke, and a pun, and he hated it, but ponies never got to pick their own names, and it might have been much worse.

He nosed the door open. His hands were not yet encased in the hoofed gloves that were part of his working harness, but he was already shifting to his pony mind-set. He stepped onto a bed of deep straw, and noticed that she had left a couple of carrots in the trough. He munched thoughtfully while he waited for her.

True to her word, she arrived shortly after and greeted him with a firm pat on his shoulder before buckling on his collar and clipping a rein to it to lead him out into the tack room.

"You need to do some more showing training," she said as she laced up his boots. "I think we can improve on last month's reserve place, with a bit more lateral work."

The comment surprised him. A normal training session was not what he had expected today. But she was in charge and he merely nodded and stood to allow her to fit the thin rolled leather showing harness."I'm not going to oil you up," she said, "but you'll be wearing your tail today."

Obediently he moved to bend over the padded bench in the centre of the room as she snapped on a pair of surgical gloves before lubricating the plug to which his tail was attached and working it into his anus. She was equally brisk and practical about oiling his cock and sliding on the sculpted leather sheath and buckling it to the waist-girth. He breathed deeply under her ministrations, moving over to the role that she was preparing him for. Though her next action was unexpected and drew a sharp cry that was not at all equine as she slipped an inch-wide leather ring round his scrotum and clicked it shut. The sound earned him a soothing pat on the rump. "It's full show harness," she said. "We want to prove to the judges that you're properly qualified for the class. Now, up."

He stood and opened his mouth under the pressure of her thumb to accept the thin covered chain of the show bridle bit. It was a lot less restrictive than the carting harness, but he nevertheless baulked a little as she clipped on the reins and led him out and back to the indoor schooling area with its marked out ménage. All of this was familiar, almost routine, but he could not help but speculate on the strange car outside and the signs of another occupant of the pony quarters. The thoughts of the contract he had signed less than a week before returned, and he began to wish that he had paid the terms more attention.

A sharp cut of the schooling whip over his shoulders disturbed his thoughts.

"Hacker!" she swore, "Pay attention. Get your head up. You're supposed to be showing off, not plodding along like a seaside donkey!"

He stopped, and found himself trembling. Instantly Jenny was at his side, a calming hand on his shoulder. She leaned close, speaking softly as if to a nervous animal. "James..." And he wasn't sure whether she was using his play name or his real one, "James, if this is too much we can leave it for another day."

The trembling was greater now, and there was bile in his throat. He swallowed it, anxious not to soil the bit, to annoy her. And that thought was what calmed him. He gave a nod, rubbing into her shoulder-hug, then threw his head back and stood balanced, exactly as she had ordered, concentrating on pleasing his trainer and not on the ache in his swinging balls or the drag of his tail, or speculation on what might happen at the end of this session.

"Good," she said, moving back to the length of the rein. "Trot on. Let's have a five meter circle."

After that the session seemed to fly by. She praised more often than punished, and by the time she commanded a halt and came to release the lunge line he was sheened with sweat and more than ready to keep going. She was grinning as she led him back to the tack room.

"God, Hacker, if you can do that at the next show I won't have room in here for the rosettes."

He pranced, unselfconsciously delighted by the praise, and she fed him a congratulatory polo mint as she removed the bridle and replaced it with a light halter. "Reward time," she said. "I think you're going to like this more than treats."

He nuzzled into her hand, seeking another mint, still so far into the pony mindset that her words barely made sense. Her hands moved over him. Releasing buckles and straps, drawing off the belt and the penis sheath and crupper fastened to it. He turned out of habit to present her with his tail, but she simply slapped his rump, and went to put the armful of leather back on its hooks. "You're not finished yet. Come on." A drag on his halter pulled him through into the tack room.

There were two people in the room. Or rather, one person, a young man whom Lester knew by sight as a friend of Jenny's who sometimes helped her out as a groom when she needed an extra person to help tack and clean. He was sitting on a hard chair to one side idly reading through a newspaper, but Lester barely registered his presence because of the other occupant, the pony waiting for service.

His eyes were bound with a soft fabric blindfold – normal practice to calm a brood-mare, but the tanned toned skin, the cropped hair and the fit muscled torso strapped across the padded bench were unmistakable. Lester's eyes widened and he choked back a quite un-equine oath. It was as well that he wasn't wearing his harness, because the sight alone brought him hard and erect. Like himself, the man's feet were encased in hoof-like boots, although these were brown rather than black. Leather hobbles fastened his ankles to the rear legs of the bench, and his gloved hands were drawn forward and lashed to a bar on the wall. His cock, ringed at the base, was pressed hard against the arch of the bench, already dripping pre-come. The plug which held his short-docked tail was a lot larger than the one Lester wore, a dark promise nestled between white, untanned buttocks. Even from this angle, even with the mask obscuring his face, anyone who knew him could not have mistaken the ARC's security chief. He hardly needed Jenny's confirmation as she spoke to her groom.

"Has _Captain_ been behaving?" she asked.

The lad folded his newspaper and nodded. "Gingered up half an hour ago, and ready to go," he said.

Jenny glanced at Lester. "That makes two of them then," she grinned. "Thanks for keeping an eye on him, Tom. I'll handle it from here."

"Great." He rose set down the paper on the chair, and made for the door, "I was worried I'd miss the Match. I'll be off then." He paused for a moment at the entrance to look back at his former charge. " And mind his teeth – he bites."

"Not me," Jenny said, grimly as the door closed behind the departing groom.

Neither of the ponies seemed to have noticed the conversation. Lester moved forwards, drawn by lust, and shook his head when she tightened her grip on the halter and stopped him. "Steady," she said. "You need a bit more prep first."

She pulled him across to the cabinet that held the lubricant and oils, selected a tube and a condom and donned a new pair of disposable gloves before efficiently rolling the condom over his still hard cock, and slicking him up. Then she moved across to the bench to remove _Captain_ 's tail-plug and apply more lubricant to the revealed, spasming hole. The pony shivered under her touch but made no sound.

Lester, by contrast, was hard and whimpering with frustration, jerking at the constraint of the halter. Though the whole procedure his eyes did not move from the bench and the figure bound across it. Jenny finished her preparation, leaving _Captain_ shaking with arousal from her fingering, and leaking lubricant down his balls, across the bench, and onto the tiled floor. She capped the tube and set it down, turning to unclip Hacker's rein, but he was already ahead of her and she had barely time to move aside before he reared up over the bound pony, slamming his front hooves down on either side of the bench to align himself before driving hot and hard unto the dripping hole.

The force of his assault shifted the whole bench forward a few inches, and Becker lifted his head and screamed.

It had no effect on the stallion, who merely leaned forward, fixed his teeth in the muscle over Becker's shoulder, and increased the pace of his rutting.

Becker was shaking his head now, not in denial but trying to free the blindfold.

Jenny moved around to his head and laid a hand on his halter. "Gently," she said. "It's what you wanted. It's James. Calm down."

Whether it was her voice, or the confirmation of the identity of the cock currently pounding into his arse, Becker did relax back onto the support of the bench, though his hands were white-knuckled on the wall bar, using the grip to push back into Lester's fractured rhythm.

It was James who was vocalising his frustration now, balls still constrained enough by the leather to make it difficult for him to ejaculate without more force than he was used to using. When he finally came it was hard and fast and painful.

Just as he had most desired.

+++

It was a few moments before Lester softened enough to slip free of his victim and push himself to his feet. His expression was hard. Without taking his eyes from the bound man he held out his hands.

"Get these off me," he ordered.

Jenny hastened to obey. She had never seen him reset so fast before. Her fingers fumbled the laces, and he growled in annoyance. As soon as his fingers were free of the hoof-gloves he flexed them as if he wanted them around her neck.

"Get out," he said. "I'll deal with him now."

With the leather clasped to her breast Jenny almost ran from the room. No one argued with Lester in this mood.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her Lester stripped off the condom, knotted it and threw it in the trash can. He followed it with Becker's blindfold.

"Are you okay?" he asked, as the other man blinked up at him under the harsh light. He was answered by a huge grin.

"Okay?" Becker said. "Okay? Of course I'm not 'okay'. I've just had the most fantastic shag of my life. I feel bloody marvellous! "

"Yeah." Lester relaxed and grinned back. He began to unbuckle the restraints that held Becker in place, pausing to run his hands over the man's exposed flesh as each strap was unfastened. Becker relaxed into it, enjoying the touch as much as the release. Now that he had the leisure Lester too revelled in the touch, the feel of hard muscle and hair-dusted skin under his hands. His fingers smoothed over the bite-mark he had left, and he bent to touch his lips to it again, to trail his tongue down Becker's back, along the dip of his spine and over the curve of his arse. He was surprised when Becker made a small noise of pain rather than pleasure and drew back to see the angry redness of the still-raw brand on Becker's left buttock. The curved horseshoe mark, barely the size of an old penny coin, was a match to the one on his own arse.

He remembered all too vividly the first session after he had signed his contract. Expecting an hour or two in harness, learning how to respond to his Mistress's commands he had instead found himself naked, roped wrists to ankles and writhing on the straw of the training shed while Jenny watched the temperature gauge on the heated branding iron until the metal glowed cherry-red and it was only the weight of the groom pinning his upper body to the ground that held him still through the completion of her task.

Branded and Mastered. It had been that, more than his signature on the contract, that had confirmed his commitment – to her and to the lifestyle. That had been three years ago and the brand was now healed almost to invisibility. Knowing that, the redness of Becker's mark puzzled him. "This looks new," he said.

Becker nodded. "Yeah. She did it last week, after I agreed the contract. Still hurts like a bitch though. I'm surprised you hadn't noticed that I've not been sitting down much lately."

"Last week?" Lester went very still. "You only signed a contract last week? Jenny told me that she'd had an offer for my services from a client. I assumed it was someone on the scene."

Becker shook his head, then pushed himself up off the bench so that he could look at Lester properly. "I only found out about this hobby a month ago – at that outdoor 'meeting'. I'd been hoping to find some way of making my interest known, but you're damned elusive out of the office. Then I found out why and... well, if you can't beat them..."

Lester took advantage of the movement to kneel and start unlacing Becker's boots. Not looking at him was easier at this point. "It's not something you can just dabble in," he said. "Not the way Jenny runs her stable."

"She made that very clear," Becker agreed, shifting on his branded buttock. "It took me three days to convince her I was serious. And a lot of cash – do you know what your 'stud fee' is?"

"Yes. It goes to charity, in case you wondered. This is a hobby, not a business."

"Worth every penny. Ouch!" Becker winced as Lester pulled off the confining hoof-boot and very nearly kicked the other man's head. "Sorry. These are a pain. However do you manage to walk in 'em?"

"Practice." Lester said. "Two years of practice and a lot of encouragement from Madame Lewis."

Becker whistled his astonishment. "Two years? You've kept this secret that long?"

Lester shrugged. "It's actually been nearer three years – and apparently I didn't, since you're here."

"Ah, but I'm trained in surveillance. And I had an incentive. Do you have any idea how often I've stood in front of your desk while you've been giving a briefing and I've only been thinking about how much I want to have you screw me across it?"

"I'm getting an inkling." Lester knelt to unlace his own boots. He pulled them off with a sigh of relief. "Shower," he said. "And then we'll discuss this properly."

Becker slid off the bench. "Lead on," he said. Lester was half-way to the door when he realised that Becker wasn't following. He glanced back over his shoulder.

"Are you coming?"

Becker grinned. "With you parading that tail in front of me? You bet!"

~FIN~


End file.
